Identity
by T.L. Battle
Summary: A thief riddled with overconfidence. A ruthless mafia princess out for blood. A Titan sprinting from a past. And one, little, memory disk that ties them all together. T for language and suggestive themes.
1. Prologue

_Prologue_

The D'Amori crime family was the most powerful in the state.

Don Aldo had his hand in everything – prostitution, arms smuggling, drug trafficking, and human slavery – and kept the police force of Jump City paid and compensated to keep out of his business.

The cutthroat was not known for his mercy. Anyone who stepped in his way was dispatched by his prized jewel: Bianca, daughter and skilled assassin.

But the Don had made some powerful enemies when he crushed the necks of hard-working citizens, and the D'Amori family had plenty of secrets that could easily destroy them.

It was common knowledge. The only thing that stopped regular people from incapacitating the hierarchy was fear.

Red X had known this since he was a boy. Fear was a powerful motivator. It caused people to do irrational and irresponsible things. That's the reason why he got rid of it in the first place. Fear was useless and he was in the business where he couldn't afford irrationality.

Easily scaling a wall and hiding behind a large potted plant to allow a highly armed security guard to pass, Red X smiled underneath his cowl.

This particular skyscraper belonged to the Crown Jewel herself and was known as one of the biggest epicenters of criminal activity for Jump City. Pfft. If only the city knew what _he_ did behind closed doors. The title of most cunning criminal would be _his_ instead of _hers_.

No matter. He stealthily crept through the hall and made his way to the basement, where a series of labyrinth-like corridors awaited him. Stifling a snort, since he had already memorized the stolen blueprints of the maze, he dodged obstacles and lasers to end up at his goal.

The gigantic safe before him was only the gate to the prize. He reached a hand out to the keypad in order to press in the numbers he lifted from emails between two head security guards and immediately retracted his fingers when an electric shock ran through them. He held the tips of his fingers gingerly.

The bitch was more clever than he thought.

A few moments later, Red X pulled the safe door open, an x-shaped shuriken lodged into the keypad.

In the middle of the room sat a small box, no doubt another trap. Red X's grin widened; he liked challenges. They gave him chances to stretch the creative aspect of his mind.

Not that the D'Amori princess was very creative in the first place. Rumors circulated in the underground that Bianca was more into shotguns than sniper rifles. Force was usually her forte, not careful planning.

For him, the business was all a matter of steps. Infiltrate. Communicate. Negotiate. Manipulate. Eliminate. Profit, profit, profit. He guessed that her line of business went more like _murder, murder, murder, lunch, murder, nap, murder, dinner, murder, bed._

Red X went to work, scanning the box and narrowing his eyes when the piece of equipment reported no foul play. There were no poisons near it, no lasers, no alarms, and no triggers. The box was harmless. Tentatively, he reached out a hand and grasped it.

There was no reaction. He waited a few moments, his senses heightened. Instinctively, he felt the need to run and swiftly get the hell out of there. Intellectually, he needed to stay and finish the job.

Stepping backwards was his first mistake.

The massive titanium gate swung shut, locking him indoors.

Panic swelled in his throat, but he choked it down. Acting quickly, he threw an orb of C4 onto the ceiling and detonated it. A sea of voices and footsteps reached his ears after the ringing had died down. Security was on the move.

The C4 had created a hole in the ceiling just big enough for Red to squeeze through and into the vents. _Thank the gods for air conditioning_, he thought, crawling his way to freedom.

Kicking open a grate and landing softly on the ground, Red surveyed his surroundings. He had escaped onto the building's roof. He laughed, triumph overtaking his initial panic.

But his happiness was short-lived, as he was kicked in the back. _Son of a bitch_.

"Good to see you so soon, Boy Blunder," he said sarcastically, straightening and dodging another of the Titan's attacks. "How long has it been?"

"Not long enough," the little bird replied bitterly, aiming a punch at Red's mask. He easily sidestepped, catching the Boy Wonder off balance and kicked the Titan in the kidneys.

Red smirked. Whenever one of those blasted Titans showed up, the shit he steals sold for millions. There was no doubt that he'd be eating heartily for the next few weeks.

The Boy Wonder had recovered and continued his attack. "Who _are_ you?" he cried, reaching savagely for the mask. Red deflected the hand, but was caught off-guard by the Titan's other fist, which landed square in Red's chest.

The blow knocked the wind out of him, but he laughed through the pain anyway. "Why don't you take off my mask and see?" he taunted. "I'm _right here_."

Robin lunged forward and this time Red wasn't quick enough. The two crashed into one another, the pair tumbling off of the skyscraper and plummeting towards the concrete sidewalk.

_Shit, shit, shit_.

Concentrating through the anxiety, Red successfully called on the technology of the suit and teleported himself safely to a backalley close by. He saw the Boy Wonder shoot off a grapel too late, slamming into the side of dumpster as he went.

Red dashed off, his legs propelling him down several blocks and through alleyways. Finally, he came to a slight jog and completely halted, ripping off the motorcycle sheet and mounting his bike. He tugged up the bottom half of his skull mask, sucking in the cold air of December. The adrenaline was wearing off. His hands were shaky. His heart hurt.

He remembered the little box in his hand and looked down at it.

Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.

He opened it, the hinges cooperating noiselessly.

Inside, lay a small memory disk, no doubt containing all of the D'Amoris dirty secrets. They would be furious.

"I am too damn good for this city," he muttered softly to himself, replacing his mask and turning the motorcycle on. He revved the engine.

He had just bested the Boy Blunder, stolen the most priceless tool of the D'Amori family and was easily riding away to his flat on the west side.

He chuckled under his breath.

After all, what was crime without a little bit of arrogance?

_Boring. _That's what it was.

* * *

A/N: And so begins my very first Teen Titans fanfiction. Concrit is very welcome and I live for reviews.


	2. Chapter 1: Fourteen, Part I

_Chapter 1 – Fourteen, Part I_

Bianca D'Amori was furious.

The Crown Jewel's grip tightened on the cell phone ringing in her hand. She was surprised that it didn't crumble in her grasp.

Its generic tone had been filling the corner office on the 77th floor of her skyscraper for the past seven and a half hours. The incessant ringing was gnawing at her last shred of nerve.

But she knew this was how to deal with her father.

The longer he was made to wait, the angrier he became, and therefore the more blind he became with rage. She had figured this out when she was merely twelve and it was much easier to deal with him when he couldn't think straight instead of when he was cold and calculating. Let the snake become frustrated and there was less chance of a bite. Although it was going against basic instinct, it has worked wonders for their relationship.

Well.

Not really.

On the last ring, she flipped open the phone and pressed it to her ear. "_BIANCA!_" her father shouted into the receiver on his end. While the two guards standing near the entrance of her office cringed from the loud shout, her posture remained impossibly impeccable.

"Yes, Father," she finally replied in an icy tone, bitterness underlying the comment. She turned and faced the windows. Her eyes roamed the vast city stretched out in front of her.

This was _her_ city. Jump City belonged to _her_. Her father was just a puppet. Useless.

"Can you _please _explain to me how our most priceless card was stolen from the depths of your building?" he loudly screeched.

"I will if you lower your voice," she said smoothly. Her voice was nearly inaudible; he would have to strain to listen to it.

She gazed out towards the bay.

The coast was beautiful this time of year, she realized. It was a deep blue from here, although she knew that if she went to the beach the water would be green. So was the trick of perception.

She heard him take a deep breath before returning to the phone. "Do _not_ talk back to me," he said, his tone much more subdued. "Do you even understand how much I trusted you with that disk? '_Father, I'll take care of it; don't worry. I'm not a screw-up like Dominic or Bruno._' Do you remember those words?"

The sharp falsetto of his impression rang in her ears. '_I do_ not _sound like that,' _she seethed, insulted. She felt her ego resound with a wounded roar inside her chest. How _dare _he.

"You're going to get that disk back, do you understand? And if you do not retrieve it, I will have your _head_."

Her eyes paused over the massive green park near the south edge of the metropolis, a click resounding in her head as she finally comprehended the length of his fury.

"Father, if you want to punish me, punish me, but do not try and intimidate me with _empty_ threats," she replied arrogantly.

"No. You know how I treat traitors, and this is much, much worse. At least traitors are _smart_," he seethed.

She paused, waiting. She controlled the rage building in her chest, the sour anger she had built over the years in her gut wanting to burst and plow a bullet through his brain.

"Give me a timeline," she said with a snark. "Give me a timeline and I will retrieve your _precious_ memory disk by the end of it."

"Two weeks. Two fucking weeks and I better have that disk back in my possession," he snapped.

There was a click. The phone call was terminated.

Bianca sat back in her leather chair, swiveling to her desk where a computer screen was playing last night's security tapes.

Her delicate hand reached out to pause the video, her slender fingers resting on the monitor. There was cold ferocity in her veins, rolling off of her and poisoning every person's consciousness in a mile radius. The guards in the shadowy corners of the room felt an uneasiness.

Then, with a single, fluid movement, Bianca grasped the cell phone and threw it at the glass window. It shattered, smashing through the fragile barrier. Cold wind began to leak into the room. Iridescent shards sprinkled down to the city below. She felt the roar of wrath in her throat.

She swallowed it, strangling the sound. _Keep calm, keep calm_.

A moment passed and she was fully composed once more.

"Get me another one," she snapped to one of her guards. The bodyguard complied silently, scurrying from the room in order to escape her anger.

He returned shortly and handed a new cellphone to her. Her fingers flew deftly across the keypad, a number she had memorized years ago appearing on the screen.

She glanced out to the coast again. Such a beautiful day and she was to spend it quelling her father's ire instead of disposing him like she wanted to do. _What a pity_, she thought, pressing the phone to the side of her head.

There were several rings and she grew more impatient with each one.

"Hello?" a voice finally answered. He was whispering; cloth was rustling in the background as he moved away from company. _Always the popular one._

"I need you over here," Bianca explained without introduction, her dark eyes carefully watching the bodyguard returning to his post. He shuffled under her scrutinizing gaze.

"Bianca?" the boy on the other side of the city said, shock in his voice. "I told you never to contact me here."

His speech was slow. She narrowed her eyes. "You've been drinking," she stated.

He was silent on the other side of the line.

"You're blurring the sides between good and bad, I see. Tell me, were you a tad drunk last night?" she questioned angrily. "When you let the little _fucker_ get away?"

"I-I... I can't talk right now," he responded. "I'm busy."

There was more rustling; a disembodied voice in the background asking where he was going.

"Too _busy?_" she said. "Did you not hear me? I need you over here. Today. _Now_."

"Look, Bianca, I can't leave right now," he said, strained now. "What if there's an emergency? I need to be here."

"I don't give a _fuck_," she said with such venom he went quiet. "Get over here. Does it sound like I'm asking?"

She turned back to the computer screen where the paused video was still poised. The skull mask obscuring the thief's face was mocking her, the red X scratched into the disguise making her veins and arteries and very _brain_ radiate hatred.

"Since you have failed to capture the thief once, you're going to help me now. It'll give you a chance to redeem your honor and whatnot. And if you don't, I'll just spread the word about your little secret. Or should I say _our_ little secret?"

"You can't!" he nearly shouted, barely able to restrain himself. "You can't. You _promised_."

"_Are you forgetting our little deal, boy?"_ she seethed, whipping her head away from the bodyguard and towards the window. She could see the building where he lived. He was silent and the sounds had stopped in the background.

She composed herself, taking a long, deep breath. "I will not tell you again. Get over here, Grayson._ Now._"


	3. Chapter 2: Fourteen, Part II

_Chapter 2 – Fourteen, Part II_

It had been a hassle to distract his friends long enough to sneak away from the Tower.

Now, he stood before tall skyscrapers, feeling completely naked without his trademark mask glued to his face. His hoodie and jeans felt foreign on his skin. Did the other people on the street know he wasn't one of them? Certainly he looked as ridiculous as he felt.

He chanced a sweeping glimpse around him. No one paid him a second look.

Uptown was busy with people in suits and the homeless that inhabited every part of Jump City. There wasn't any crime – not yet, anyway. He had an hour, at the most. He walked on, his footsteps hasty.

Here it was. The D'Amori family's most famous tower, 80 Lake Street, stood like a glass giant against the backdrop of the heavy white sky. No matter how bright the gray day was or how warm air wafted from various buildings every time a door opened, a nearly tangible coldness crept into his chest at the realization that he had come to see his old grade school nemesis.

Bianca D'Amori - power-hungry, demented, mentally unstable, blackmailing Bianca.

No matter how different the mafia families claimed to be, they were all the same. Power-hungry bastards who don't care who they extort or hurt as long as they get what they want.

Bianca was no different. In fact, she was the best of the worst.

He nodded to the polite doorman as he entered the building. Heated air warmed his clothes, the remnants of the cold winter day disappearing after a few minutes.

Clean, sterile, straight lines and surfaces decorated the interior.

The secretary waved him by without glancing up from her work and he made his way over to the string of elevators. Before he could press the up button, two shiny doors slid apart to reveal Bianca D'Amori and with two bodyguards positioned on either side of her.

She had not changed. In two and a half years she looked exactly the same – same teeth, same eyes, same haircut, same height. Had he expected her to change just as much as he?

"Ah, excellent," she said, clapping her hands together as she set her eyes on the teen. "I was just on my way out."

"What do you want, Bianca," he said sternly without the lilt of a question. He was _not_ in the mood for pleasantries, especially when she called him out of important business to be there.

"Walk and talk, dear friend, walk and talk," she replied, waving a hand at her bodyguards. They complied with her silent order, staying in the elevator and disappearing seventy floors up as she joined the teen.

Her blazer and skirt created perfectly straight lines as she moved; leading him to the suspicion that maybe she had OCD. He followed reluctantly, hands shoved deep into his pockets and the expression of loathing on his countenance. Her legs propelled her forward along the sidewalk, her boots clicking against the pavement with the quick pace.

How was she not cold in such a short skirt?

With each step, something inside his chest tightened. She was deliberately wasting his time, fueling his hate. He took few deep breaths, trying to get his emotions under control. It didn't work as well as he hoped.

She had led him to a crowded coffee shop and he sulked in the corner as she snapped her fingers to the barista behind the counter. A latte appeared soon after and she snatched it up without paying.

Bianca slid into a booth and gestured for him to do the same. After a short glare-off, he complied.

"So, Dick – "

"Don't use my name," he seethed. She maliciously smiled, sipping at her drink.

"Then what _should_ I call you, Rob – "

"Dick is fine," he growled, pulling his hood up and slouching in his seat. The inconspicuous actions had the opposite effect: He caught a man on his laptop glance at him.

"All right," Bianca said. She folded her hands, pale fingers intertwining. "Tell me your plan in capturing Red X."

She waited, dark eyes singeing his. "Red X has never been caught," he finally said. Her left eye twitched.

"Excuse the repetitiveness, Dick," she said her tone grinding and stoic. "Tell me your _plan_ in _capturing_ Red X. I do not believe I asked if he had ever been caught _before_."

She was either baiting him or testing him, but he knew the end result would be the same. "I don't have one yet," he explained.

"Time is ticking, _dear friend_," she snarled. "My father has given me fourteen days to retrieve the disk and you're going to help me find the piece of _shit_ that stole it."

He controlled himself and his face, knowing that if she even sensed some sort of fear she'd exploit him further. The internal battle he always had was waging anew. For the good of Jump City, he should walk away now and leave Bianca to her troubles.

But for the good of himself he needed to stay. Identity was at stake, and his was the most important in the entire metropolis.

The city's safety or his own selfish motives?

"I'm _waiting_, Dick," the most evil embodiment of mafia royalty muttered through her teeth. "Two more minutes and I'll make you go see a _circus_ with me."

_Bitch._

"Red X's suit isn't indestructible," he said, instantly feeling the pang of guilt.

"And how do you know," she replied, finishing her drink and tossing it into a nearby trashcan.

"Because _I_ designed it," he explained. A slow smile spread across her lips.

"There is a weakness," she mused, "and he does not know?"

"There's a chance that he does."

"Red X is too thick to realize anything of importance," she said. "He is arrogant, pompous, and over-confident. He may think he is the most intelligent thief, but clearly he hasn't met any of _my_ family members before." He had a feeling she wasn't talking about her biological family.

She stood, leading him to rise from his seat as well. They exited the coffee shop, cold air hitting him in the face. It was probably going to rain again, and then gradually lead to snow once the sun set.

"How very unfortunate," Bianca said absentmindedly.

"What," he said, humoring her after she said nothing more.

"That you have chosen yourself over the people you have sworn to protect," she said with a cruel laugh. "You are a paradox, my friend. The perfect embodiment of contradiction."

"You're pure evil, why should I even listen to you?" he replied angrily, turning to leave.

"You're right," she agreed. Another chuckle followed as he began to walk away. "I will be checking up on you, Dick. Make sure your doorbell is working."

He stopped in his tracks. "You wouldn't dare," he said through clenched teeth.

"You're forgetting who I am, _dear friend." _

She gracefully turned and began to walk in the opposite direction. Her boots quickly echoed off of glass and walls as her retreating figure disappeared into the fog.

His transmitter was vibrating in his pocket and he opened it.

"Friend, where are you?" a voice crackled through the static.

"I'm on my way," he replied before closing the connection.

Robin started down the sidewalk at a hurried pace, trying to outrun his own past.

It wasn't working as well as he'd like.


	4. Chapter 3: Thirteen, Part I

_Chapter 3 – Thirteen, Part I_

He sighed.

The time had come for the Red-X persona to retreat into the depths of the human's mind, and for normalcy to return to the surface of his facade. Once the suit came off, he lost the powerful technology and reverted back into a normal citizen of Jump City.

Well, a normal citizen with the data disk that could potentially destroy the most influential crime syndicate. Other than that, he was quite the ordinary resident of Jump City.

It was both satisfying and terrifying.

He walked the streets with no real purpose other than to think, his mind running through all of the possibilities that were now possible. He could retire, fly away to an unknown country and live out in isolation. He could buy a private plane and travel anywhere in the world with beautiful women hooked around his arms. He could quit university and buy a Lamborghini and zoom through the city without worry.

He could track down the Joker and exact some much needed revenge.

He could find that damned Batman and do the same.

Or he could get rid of the Titans. He pondered this little option for a minute before shaking his head. Without people to catch him (or at least attempt to), his life would revert back into the ordinary, boring citizen he was now – only, he feared, permanently.

The heist had only occurred yesterday and there were no offers as of yet for the precious item, but he wasn't worried. It usually took a few days for the very important bidders to discuss how much they should propose, or if they wanted the item at all.

He hated that about criminals, or at least the organized ones. They always had to play the politician, keeping the balance between allies and enemies and they were always trying to get the upper hand simultaneously.

He didn't need to do that. That's why he didn't _have_ a side. He had himself, and he was all he could ever need, really. Other people were complicated, messy, unorganized and rather idiotic. He knew _his_ motives, _his_ reasons, _why_ he did what he did, and he was smart enough to feed the greed that always threatened his soul as to not anger the beast within his chest.

The cold weather wasn't too friendly to his nose and he pulled his coat closer to his body. He had wandered uptown. The D'Amori building lay a few blocks ahead of him, and unsurprisingly, he smiled before walking closer to his perfect crime scene.

The skyscraper lived up to its name, touching the white sky. It was a monster of glass and steel and built from the crushed dreams of exploitation victims. It looked much better during the day than shrouded in black.

As much as he disliked syndicates, he had to admit that the families like D'Amori, Di Luca and Zucco at least knew how to run a business.

"Excuse me," a female voice said icily directly behind him. He turned to see a short, young, slender woman with creased eyebrows and a scowl pasted to her pretty face.

"A thousand pardons, Miss…?" he said politely, stepping from her path and inferring her name, although he already knew it. Bianca D'Amori. Ruthless, icy, deadly, and powerful. Ah, such a piece of art.

Her eyes narrowed into slits as a cold smile graced her lips.

"D'Amori," she finished, extending a hand. He struggled to keep his giddiness under control as he took her freezing hand in his. "And you, I presume, are a loiterer."

"Ah, you are correct," he said with a slight laugh, although his amusement was not to her half-sincere insult. "It is a beautiful building." He gazed back up at the towering giant of metal.

"The D'Amoris do not settle for anything but beautiful," she responded. Her fake grin did not ease from her features and he had no choice but to return the grin.

"I can see that," he said with a short glance up her body. Her eyes narrowed even more, her smile faltering for a moment.

"What a charming street rat," she said then, cocking her head to the side slightly. "And how long have you been so arrogant and crude?"

"Since meeting a pretty ingénue like you," he replied with a miniscule chuckle.

"Perhaps I am not so innocent you perceive me to be," she retorted. "Perhaps I have a much darker side that you shouldn't try to bring out."

There it was: the crack in her shield. A challenge to her status, he processed, was a direct challenge to her control. And a direct challenge to her control was as if he had slapped her straight across the face.

"Perhaps," he repeated the Red-X personality he had pushed into the back of his mind resurfacing. "Perhaps you _are_ that innocent. Perhaps you would deny a small drink with me because you're too concerned of alcohol tarnishing your purity… _kid._"

He might have imagined it, but he was almost certain that D'Amori twitched in the slightest of ways, her lip quivering for a moment as she smoothed out her skirt.

"I won't refuse that offer," she said. "In fact, I _do _think it is time for a celebration."

"May I ask why so?" he questioned.

"No, I don't think you may," she quipped. "All you need to know is that you are buying my drinks… kid."

The nickname did not have the affect she had been hoping for. He merely grinned as the two set down towards the pub on 78th street.

His smiled widened. He was confident in the millions of dollars being transferred into his bank account in the near future. He lacked the doubt found after stealing something of such value. He was even taking his victim out to a few drinks to celebrate his heist.

_It is such a wonderful day_, he thought.

"Charming street rat," she said, commanding his attention. "I should inform you that I am a rather violent drinker."

"Perfect, I am one as well, Ms. D'Amori," he said. Such a pretty victim. Violent and unstable and undeniably insane, but she looked too damn good in that skirt.

She caught him staring at her pale legs. "Rat, I do not wish to have your brains scattered on the pavement."

"Apologies," he said, keeping his roving eyes on hers. "And please, call me Jason."


	5. Chapter 4: Thirteen, Part II

_Chapter 4 – Thirteen, Part II_

The door slid shut noiselessly, as always.

He stood near the door, pausing to reorganize the thoughts jumbled in his mind.

He took off his cape before setting it down on the bed and rubbing his eyes.

It had taken nearly the entire day to research the different criminals who had interacted with Red X over the years, but he had finally collected the entire contact list. There was a man in Shanghai who supplied Red X for xynothium, but he had gone underground and hasn't been heard from in nearly three months.

There was a woman in downtown Jump City who had sold a teen boy a room in one of her hovels, but then kicked him out due to his "weird-ass experiments n' shit". He couldn't explain it, yet Robin knew it had been Red X. The alias was generic – Joe Thomas – and Robin became increasingly frustrate with the mystery surrounding the thief.

There were countless others who had claimed to do business with Red X, including several mafia families and an impressive six other villains Robin had battled in the past.

He sighed, a loud noise in the silent room.

There was only one source of light in the chamber: a tiny lamp positioned over one of the walls. He didn't bother to turn on the rest of the ceiling lights, preferring to bask in the darkness. It reminded him of simpler times, he supposed. The present was much too complicated.

He had isolated himself from his friends, which was very difficult to do considering they were all his building mates, and now spent countless hours perfecting the plan of capturing Red X.

His back wall was plastered with bits and pieces pertaining to the case of the mysterious thief's identity. Aliases, places he's stolen from, the testimonies from his victims (usually from criminals like him). Yet with all the information he had garnered from the scum of Jump City, there were still so many holes.

Where was Red X's headquarters? His lair? Who did he work for? Himself? Where did he put all the money from his crimes? The bank? How did he get that c4? Or those explosives?

And why couldn't Robin catch him before?

They were evenly matched in almost every way – hand to hand combat, gadgets, skill, ability, even height. So why was this so damn difficult?

He hunched over his desk, staring at the photos collected from the file in the basement. They were mostly blurry snapshots of a skull mask, or a red x burned into a building after a brawl. He felt disgusted with himself; _technology at its worst._

There were times when he regretted creating the suit, times when he absolutely hated his mind for unleashing the terrible power upon the city. Then, there were days when he grew thankful for his past, when the suit actually helped instead of harmed. He glanced at the suitcase sitting near the edge of his bed – yes, he was thankful that day.

Because of the suit, Robin's true identity was saved from public speculation numerous times.

But not this time; now, due to Red X's (idiotic) actions, Robin had to answer to Bianca.

Bianca, the one person he's ever thought about killing and claiming it was an accident. It would be so easy to sneak into her apartment and drive a projectile right through her skull, or crush her neck while she was sleeping. It would be _so easy_.

He took a deep breath – that isn't what he was brought up to believe. That isn't what his time in Gotham was about. Teach the criminal a lesson and then bring them to jail, but _never _take their life. It was a code he had been ingrained into his own personality.

But for Bianca, he could push that code aside for one moment – just one – to better the city. What's one life compared to hundreds of thousands?

His door slid open, letting in more light than necessary. "Robin," a voice said. It wasn't a question.

"What is it, Raven?" he answered, not turning. "I'm kind of busy."

"You aren't," she observed. "Unless standing in the dark staring at pictures is being busy."

Her dry tone slightly irked him and this surprised him. He had never snapped at Raven so quickly before. "Do you need something?" he said then, trying to keep his voice calm.

"Starfire is worried about you," she explained, floating over to him. He could see her cloak in his peripheral vision, dark as her personality.

"Tell her I'm fine," he replied curtly.

"But you're not," she said incredulously. "If you were, you wouldn't be sulking in the dark."

"_You're_ fine and _you_ sulk in the dark," he returned maliciously, swiveling in his chair to face her. "Just leave, Raven, I'm _busy_."

Surprisingly, she didn't scoff or remark a small insult. She complied, moving towards the door. She hesitated, her hand on the doorframe.

"You're our leader, Robin, but you're also our friend. Don't forget that," she stated before silently leaving the room.

Why did she always have to be right?

After a moment of pause, he swiveled back to the wall of his defeat, his ire, and the only way to ensure his safety. He pulled out a chair and sat down, allowing himself to be completely doused in his obsession.

"Who are you," he whispered, narrowing his eyes in frustration before completely closing them with a sigh.

He reviewed the things he knew about Red X: agile, powerful, cunning, skillful. He knew techniques only Robin could know, weaknesses that only Robin knew. He was reckless and arrogant.

Yet in all his crimes, he never once killed anyone.

Robin jumped from his chair as if he had been shocked. _And where did I learn everything I know?_ He thought. _Who trained me not to kill?_

He fumbled for the file, looking for any trace that the theory overwhelming his mind was wrong. It had to be. There was no possible way –

He couldn't find any evidence to debunk the claim. _No, no, no…_

He paused, breathing heavily in an attempt to slow his heartbeat down from the adrenaline drive it had become. He grasped his chest, grinding his teeth and trying not to shake.

And still, the theory loomed over him. It made sense. It was logical. Even Beast Boy had said it before.

His fingers fumbled over the phone he struggled to retrieve from his belt, a private number showing up on the small screen. He pressed the call button and waited, the phone pressed to his ear.

One ring.

Two.

Three.

With every minute, Robin became more fidgety, sweat beginning to form on his forehead. He wiped it away with his gloved hand. He was praying to any god at that moment to prove him wrong – he did _not_ want to be right this time.

"Wayne Enterprises, Bruce speaking," a familiar tone said automatically as the ringing finally discontinued. The teen's throat stopped working for a moment before he forced his own voice out.

"D-dad, it's Dick," he said, remembering why he had contacted his father in the first place.

"It's good to hear your voice," Bruce said with a small sigh of relief on the other side of the line.

"I need… I need to ask you… something. Something… important," the teen said anxiously, walking around his room.

"In person," Bruce said. "I haven't seen you in over two years."

"I-I know," he responded, suddenly embarrassed.

"Tomorrow, then. You know the way to the old penthouse," Bruce said.

"T-tomorrow."

"Dick, is something wrong?" Bruce asked in a lower tone – concern – as his tinny voice was shrouded in worry. "You've never stuttered before."

"No, nothing's wrong," the boy wonder replied in a more composed tone. He peeled his mask off and stared at it in his free hand. "Not yet, anyway."


	6. Chapter 5: Twelve, Part I

_Chapter 5 – Twelve, Part I_

He had made a serious, career-endangering mistake.

Jason looked at himself in the unfamiliar mirror, muttering profanities underneath his breath as he surveyed the damage to his face.

A blackened eye, a few scratches on his left cheek and countless bruises on his neck reflected back to him. He touched his neck tenderly with the tips of his fingers.

No, those weren't bruises on his neck. They were hickies.

_Shit, shit, shit!_

He had woken up alone in a large bed, the pillows and covers thrown to the floor. His head had been pounding with the remnants of a hangover while he confusedly glanced about the room. The remains of a lamp were scattered on the hard wooden floor; what seemed to be a shattered mirror was sparkling from the morning light invading the chamber from the window; finally, an overturned nightstand aside the bed.

There had been either a fight, or really, really, really, outrageous sex.

Puzzled and with a building migraine, he had stumbled from the bed to realize he was nearly undressed, his pants and shirt nowhere to be seen.

What in the hell happened?

His strawberry blond hair was strewn with red, probably from a head injury he sustained from… from…

_Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no._

He grasped the porcelain sink, supporting himself as he was overwhelmed with recollection of last night.

The bar – she had won the drinking contest. The taxi – her mouth tasted like whiskey. The apartment – she was fumbling with her keys and he was laughing uncontrollably. The bed – her skin was so soft.

He stared at himself in the mirror. So it had been the second option, after all.

Shit. He needed to get out. He needed to get back to his flat for a diagnostic evaluation. He needed to leave before she came back. He needed to do too many things and get the hell out of the famous Shotgun's crosshair.

If only he could find his shirt and pants.

He splashed water on his face now, trying to keep calm. There was no use in becoming a panicked mess.

He opened the bathroom door quietly, peeking out into the hall of the large flat. It was tastefully decorated with modern lines and cherry-wood floorboards. Despite himself, he wondered if she could decorate his shoddy apartment to make it look at least half as good as this.

He padded down the corridor, keeping an eye out for the rest of his belongings. His boxers were barely enough to cover his indecency, and he was getting awfully cold.

He abruptly stopped in the hall, hearing voices in the next room.

"If you don't want our help just because of Father – "

"I don't want your help because you're shitty at your job."

He recognized the second voice as belonging to Bianca, the sharpness in her words unmistakable.

"Don't speak to Bruno like that," another man stated calmly. "We're just trying to help."

"Your help would actually be _hurting_ my chances of regaining the disk," she countered. "You two are only Father's lapdogs."

"Fuck you," Bruno seethed. Jason raised an eyebrow at such a response; who could say that to Shotgun and not painfully die a minute later?

"You two aren't trying to help me at all in the first place. I can find Red X on my own," she spat in return. "In fact, I have someone working on his identity right now." The teen hidden in the hallway paused, listening hard while holding back a breath.

She had to be bluffing. She was just trying to impress her company. There was no possible way she would have someone hunting him right at this moment.

"You're lying. You don't know jack shit about hunting anyone, Shotgun," the other man said, calling her bluff.

_Please be lying_, he prayed.

"You think I'm _lying?_" she scoffed, clearly insulted. "Dominic, when have I ever _lied_ about the hunt? Did I lie to Bruno when I hunted that bitch of an ex-wife of his?"

Uncomfortable silence ensued, both men unable to respond.

"That's right," she muttered. "Stay your tongue when you're trying to talk business with me. You never were one to understand the logistics behind capture or assassination. Now get the fuck out."

Heavy footsteps followed; a door shut loudly. Bianca D'Amori. The Queen of Cold. And he slept with her. He internally groaned. This morning was just too _stressful_.

"You can come out now, Jason," she said, slight disdain her voice. Cursing himself, he stepped away from familiar shadows to find Bianca fully dressed standing in the kitchen. Steam billowed from her coffee mug with "World's Best Murderer" engraved on the side. How very dark.

"Morning, kid," he greeted. He thought better of the nickname now. Maybe insulting her wasn't the best course.

"Do you enjoy eavesdropping on my conversations?" she questioned before taking a sip from her cup.

"Not particularly," he answered. He gestured to his naked upper body. "My shirt? Pants?"

"Closet, the place where those garments are usually located," she explained curtly. She studied him for a bit, cocking her head to one side. "You're not very smart, are you?"

He narrowed his eyes. "Smart enough to know that you're never going to find Red X," he snapped.

Her harsh, cynical laugh filled the room. "I know that you value your life, Jason, and it would be smart of you to shut your pretty little mouth right now," she responded before adding, "but I know you won't; you're not that smart, after all."

"Your standards are a little low, then, if you're taking such an interest in me, D'Amori," he taunted.

She turned to him, leaning on the marble counter. Her dark eyes stabbed his own. "Oh please, my interest in you is purely… physical," she whispered. A series of shivers radiated up his spine, but he did his best not to let her sense them. She straightened, checking her watch. "I'm off to work. I assume you have someplace to be?"

"Home," he said, standing and heading back to the bedroom to find his clothes.

"Good. Please clean yourself up," she said in return, her voice echoing off the corridor's walls. She slid her arms into a winter coat and headed for what appeared to be the exit.

"Oh, don't worry about me, sweetheart," he called, shrugging on his shirt. "I'll be just fine."

"Don't call me sweetheart, asshole," he heard her say before slamming the door. He waited a few moments before relaxing. He could leave well enough alone and just get out, head to his apartment, and try to sleep off the rest of his hangover.

Or. (_There was always an "or".)_ He smiled, a budding idea forming in his mind.

Or he could use this situation to his advantage. He could very well turn this whole thing around, make it work for _him_ instead of _her._ She may be manipulative and heartless and stoic and beautiful, but he was smart and a better liar and a master at facades.

He stepped into his pants, buttoning his trousers and securing his belt.

Making his way to the front of the apartment, he grabbed a notepad and pen near the phone. Hastily, he scribbled the note, read it over twice, and then tacked it to the refrigerator. She'd see it there.

He even laughed a small bit, knowing that she would definitely comply. After all, who could resist the _charming_, the _wonderful_, the _gentleman-like_, the _not-at-all violent_ Jason Todd?


	7. Chapter 6: Twelve, Part II

_Chapter 6: Twelve, Part II_

Bruno D'Amori loved his family.

His parents had been his mentors for his entire life. His brother was his other half, confidante, and right-hand man. His young daughter was the rock to keep him tied to the ground. His uncles, aunts; grand-parents; cousins – they all had a function and role in his fully formed character. He wouldn't be a complete person without a single one of them.

But then there was one exception to this rule, one loose end that never seemed to get tied up.

Bianca. Sister, rival, and competitor.

"Daddy! Did you see? Did you see my trick?" his daughter gasped with excitement. He smiled, bending to collect her in his arms.

"Of course, Camilla," he whispered into her hair. "Of course I did. Daddy was watching you all this time."

"Mommy's watching too you know," the child said, pointing straight up into the air. It cracked his already broken heart.

"Heaven, that's right," he responded, fighting back those damaged tears forming behind his eyes. He was a man; he should not cry like a baby. He set the tiny girl down and watched as she ran off towards the playground once more, giggling and instantly becoming friends with the other small children.

He sat down at the bench provided for parents and carefully watched the perimeters of the playground for any creeps. None, today.

Bruno unwillingly let his mind wander back to his family (his sister).

There were times when he thought about where it had gone all wrong, when her hugs became attempts to stab him in the back; when her gentle laughter became harsh cackles; when their glorious shared victories and criminal empires cracked and split. They had been the greatest alliance in the D'Amori family, now enemies and rivals that wanted one another dead.

Well, he didn't necessarily want her _dead_, she was family after all.

He assumed that they had grown apart during his college years and her early high school ones. The difference in their ages had never been a problem before, but then she began to mature and experienced the world with a vastly altered outlook. She worked for business; he worked for happiness.

He convinced himself that that's just what siblings do sometimes. He should have known that she wouldn't _always_ look up to him, or that she wouldn't _always_ come to him for advice. She had her own life and he needed to tend to his own.

His resentment of his younger sibling began in insolated, small events. A few choice words here and there, realizing that she had manipulated him during a hit or stealing a business racket from his roster.

Bruno had forgiven her. He always had, convinced by Dominic that she "wasn't all that bad; there has to be some good in her". But he knew ever since their childhood he knew she wasn't mentally _there_.

Dominic said she was just expressing herself. Bruno said that she was manipulating others for profit.

Both were right.

It had been easy to forgive her supposed mistakes, her slants against Bruno and Dominic as a pair. Looking the other way, Bruno convinced himself that he was helping her.

But then his wife died in a much unexpected manner and he had no one to blame but himself.

Now, his cell phone rang incessantly, jiggling in his coat pocket. Tearing his gaze away from his daughter, and distracting himself from the morbid thoughts, he glanced at the caller ID before answering it hastily.

"Bruno, I need you at the house," his father said without a formal greeting.

"Of course, of course. I'll be there soon," he replied obediently. He paused, worried. "How's Mother?"

"She's getting worse," his father replied with a long sigh. "Son, I don't think she has enough time to say goodbye to everyone."

Bruno closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand. He had to tell Dom. "What did the doctor say this time?"

"Two months at best," the older man explained. "She's taken to the bed. She's lost weight. I want you and Dominic to see her before she goes."

Goes. Before she dies.

Bruno hesitated, thinking. "And Bianca?"

There was silence, a usual occurrence in their family. Then, "No, no, your mother does not want to see her."

"I understand." He didn't. Not really. The two men shared goodbyes and Bruno resumed his careful watch on his child.

He had his own reasons for hating Bianca, but their mother had loved all of her children equally. She had brought them up with honor and confidence, made certain they were safe and out of prison. She was involved and attentive to their needs and wants and ambitions. She had tried her best to always listen to Bianca or Bruno or Dominic if they had ever a problem.

Always. Too many things were changing for "always" to be relevant to Bruno anymore. He didn't have a sister and soon he wouldn't have a mother.

"Camilla? Come on, Daddy has an important meeting with Grandpapa," he called urgently. She came running from the bushes, her hand clasped in a boy's. _Childhood sweethearts,_ he thought with a slight bittersweet laugh.

"Bye, Kyle," she said, releasing the child's hand.

"Bye Camilla."

She ran to her father, to his arms where she belonged. Bruno saw Kyle smile and wave before rushing to the jungle gym to test his imagination. It was so wonderfully simple.

They had no idea what was going on, completely oblivious to the world. Mentally innocent, unknowing of the complicated mess that was life. They didn't know that people weren't born evil. They didn't know that people could do terrible, appalling, unforgiveable things to other human beings for personal gain.

They didn't know anything, really, except which crayon was needed for each coloring page and who to share their pudding cups with.

"We're going to see Grandpapa?" Camilla breathed, happiness evident in her little porcelain face. "And Grand-mama?"

"Yes, and Grand-mama," he replied, settling her on his hip with one arm as he dialed his brother's number with his other. "Dom? Yeah, meet us at Father's. It's about Mother. Yeah. Yeah. Okay, see you there."

He hesitated, looking down at his phone. Bianca's number was listed under "Bitch", but somehow he now thought she didn't completely deserve that title. If Mother didn't even want to see her, she was too far gone to hate anymore. He wondered if he should hit the call button and tell her to come and say goodbye.

"Daddy, are we leaving or not? I wanna play with Kyle if we're not," Camilla said matter-of-factly. He closed his phone; kissed her on the forehead, and started off towards his Cadillac parked next to the curb.

Bianca didn't deserve to see their mother.

"Yes, yes, we're leaving," he muttered, buckling her into the car seat in the back.

"Is Uncle Dominic going to be there?" she asked hopefully.

He smiled. "Of course he is, sweetie," he replied. "He'll meet us there."

"And Auntie Bianca?"

"Not this time." He shut the door and made his way to the driver's side. He eased his frame in and started the vehicle.

"Good. She scares me," the child confessed in the back seat. He glanced in the mirror, seeing his daughter shift uneasily in her spot.

Maybe Camilla was more attuned to the world than he thought.


	8. Chapter 7: Twelve, Part III

_Chapter 7: Twelve, Part III_

Dick loved the subway.

It never changed and was the same in almost every metropolitan city: nearly empty at midnight, florescent lighting that did not flatter any one of the few occupants in the box, and that one peculiar smell ingrained in all the surfaces that made him gag with familiarity.

He jogged up the steps, emerging aboveground.

Gotham City – the place he was reborn. It was cold here too, but not nearly as freezing as Jump City.

Walking the well-known streets gave him the uneasy feeling of nostalgia. Here he could walk by memories and choke on all the emotions evoked because of them.

A bank where he had stopped armed robbers was on the corner where a hotdog stand normally was. An alleyway was located a few blocks away, where he had stopped a would-be rapist. Next to that is a deli he would regularly eat after the classes he attended at the Ellison Academy for the Gifted.

He stood still, staring at the metal gates from across the street. His old high school seemed much smaller and slightly more rustic. Had it really been nearly three years already?

He had met Bianca here on the sidewalk the first day of his high school career. Back then, she had been charming and girlish, giggling quietly behind her hand and always saying "thank you" or "please" in her sentences.

She had been so nice and he so innocently naïve. It sickened him to realize that it was all an act; the real Bianca had emerged after he told her his most guarded secret.

He had fallen, he had trusted, and he had confessed. He had thought she was his friend, his only friend who actually understood him.

Oh, she had been a very good actress.

He had been wrong to trust her. Completely and utterly and destructively _wrong_.

It was his own mistake, something he had buried for a long while. He hadn't suspected the young girl would ever blackmail him. He should have known though. She was the princess of a highly organized and volatile criminal group (and graduating early from the gifted academy didn't hurt either).

He kept walking, although the memories began to surface. Had it really been that long since they pulled pranks on their old principal? Had it really been that long since he walked her home every day?

Dick shook his head. This wasn't the time to get lost in past events. They didn't matter anymore. What mattered was the present and how he was going to save himself from Bianca. She was just another criminal now: An increasingly violent and insane criminal, but still part of the scum that he had vowed to clean from the city.

He walked on through the maze of streets, muscle memory leading him to his desired destination.

Wayne Enterprises towered over him, immune to time. It was still a modernized steel skeleton with a thousand glass eyes.

He pressed the special button hidden underneath the brass sign declaring this Bruce Wayne's company. Two seconds later, the doors unlocked with a click.

Despite his original motive in returning, the anxiety and excitement that every young adult has when they have their first homecoming was building in his gut. What would he say to Dick? What _could_ he say?

What would Dick say in return?

His palms were sweaty, prompting him to wipe them on his jeans. The elevator was heated and pleasantly warm, but for Dick it was as if ascending in a burning metal box. Finally, the doors slid open to reveal the sitting room of the penthouse.

"Master Grayson," a voice said from the darkness. Lights flickered on as an older man with gray hair and a smile greeted the young man.

"Alfred, no need to call me that anymore, I don't live here," Dick replied. The two men shared a slight hug, before he asked the inevitable question: "Is he here?"

"He wouldn't miss your visit," Alfred explained. "He's in the study."

"Thanks."

He hesitantly stepped through the penthouse, resisting the temptation of heading to his own room to make sure it was still the same. Of course it would be, his dad never did like redecorating.

He made it to the wooden door of the private study, internally battling himself with the decision to knock or just walk in. He decided to knock, three hardy blows to the wood.

"Come in, Dick," he heard the low voice of his second father mutter from inside. He opened the door, expecting the man to be in full gear ready to clean the streets with him again. Like old times. Like simpler times when he didn't have these kinds of problems.

Instead, the man was still dressed from the work day. Collared shirt, crisp pants, and shined shoes. "Hey," was all he managed to force from his mouth.

"That's all you get to say to me after two years?" Bruce said with an easy smile. Dick grinned, moving forward and embracing his father. There was the reassurance: _Yes, I am your father_. _Not the replacement._

Though not by blood, it was the Batman who brought the Robin to the world.

Dick felt familiar arms wrap around his back as Bruce returned the gesture. "It's good to have you home, son," he said, releasing the boy and holding him at arm's length to examine him. "You've gotten taller."

"You've gotten older," he replied jokingly.

"And the same old smartass."

They fell back into the familiar groove of talking, catching up. Dick was excited to share everything with him: the Titans, the criminals, the increasing difficulty of getting older. By the time Bruce asked, "How is Jump City?" Dick had forgotten about the only reason he had called his father in the first place.

The teen faltered in his explanation, stuttering and stammering before Bruce concernedly tried to find out what had gone wrong. Bruce seemed to reach a conclusion without his son's input.

"You've hit the wall," he said, furrowing his brows. "I should've known you were too young to handle solo-fighting. Even with a team, you've hit the wall already."

"It's not that," Dick said, leaning forward in his chair. "It's not… I can handle it."

"Is it your team then?" he asked. "Starfire? Cyborg? Beast Boy? Everyone has those days, Dick."

"No, it's not them," he replied. "They're great."

"Then, what's wrong?"

He had two options. First, tell Bruce everything and come clean about his slip up three years ago. He would confess how he was taken in by a pretty face, foolish and childish. He would ask him for help and had complete faith that Bruce wouldn't hesitate to agree in taking down Bianca and Red-X. Yet it came with the consequence of being the helpless child Bruce would have to pull out of trouble.

But he wasn't a child anymore. He was nineteen, old enough to think for himself and old enough to solve things on his own. He was a man, dammit.

Option one was out of the question.

Option two was almost as risky. He could choose to hide the fact that Bianca knew who he really was. He could lie and say that a mafia princess is out for his blood, but not why.

"There's a criminal I can't catch," he blurted out, looking down to his lap in shame. "He's matched my skills, my abilities, knows everything there is to know about being… being Robin."

He took a chance to glance up at Bruce, whose eyes had widened slightly. He knew. He _had_ to.

"I need the names of everyone you trained after me."

The statement hung in the air, large and looming.

"Dick, you know I can't do that," Bruce finally said, standing from his desk.

"Why not? It can help me catch this guy. He's dangerous. He's out of control," he pleaded. "C'mon, Dad. Please."

"There has only been one after you and it can't possibly be him," Bruce said, pacing the room with hands behind his back. Dick stood as well, waiting.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm certain."

"Why then? How are you so convinced that this man isn't him?" he questioned after a long bout of silence.

"How do I know?" Bruce repeated. He walked to a closet, opening the door. Inside, a single spotlight shown down onto a ragged Robin costume – pieces of a fighter that were hastily sewn together again. Bruce stared at the uniform in somber silence as Dick caught his breath.

"I couldn't save him," the Batman said sadly. "It can't be him, Dick, because he's dead."


	9. Chapter 8: Eleven, Part I

_Chapter 8 – Eleven, Part I_

Jason took another swig of the whiskey.

Wallowing in the welcomed darkness of his bedroom, he sat defeated on his bed, watching his laptop screen for any activity. There had been none for hours.

No one wanted the memory disk.

There had been no bidders. No contacts. Not even relevant chatter from the bugs he had planted. There was nothing.

He had used his time and effort to break in and steal the worthless piece of shit. No, wait, it wasn't completely worthless – not if Bianca was so adamant in pursuing the thief who took it from her. Then again, maybe she didn't know it was worthless and was off on a wild goose chase.

Jason stretched, his elbows yawning in slight pops. He closed his notebook, rubbing his eyes and moving from the bed.

He could destroy the D'Amori family and end the hunt. He could easily shake supporters from the woodwork, bend and manipulate them into paying him for bringing down Bianca. He needed the money – not desperately, but still. The rent of the flat plus expensive technology upgrades plus food plus the endless supply of coffee he needed plus the financial drain of the chain smoking habit he picked up from all the stress… it was adding up at an alarming rate.

Before this entire fiasco, he had been able to sustain the lifestyle with a heist once in a while. He didn't live with gaudy, grandiose things. He lived in a studio apartment and maintained another one for his technology. But it was becoming harder as he didn't have a day job.

He used to be the greatest thief in all of Jump City.

Then again, he had had _buyers_ who wanted the items he stole. He was once a brilliant merchant of black-listed merchandise. Now, struggling to afford everything he had built, he was reduced to pacing like a common thief in his den.

Ending the hunt was out of the question. Bianca wouldn't stop searching even after being stripped of her title. She was that kind of animal – determined, dangerous, and resourceful. If someone cut her off, she'd find a way to come back in a devastating tenfold. She was too smart and focused.

Besides, he had enough faith in his acting abilities to convince her otherwise if she got too close to the truth.

He glanced at the clock: nearly two in the morning.

It was time to find a way to secure his financial needs for another month or two as he waited for someone to become interested in the memory disk. Despite the ninety-four percent of doubt creeping into his mind, there was still that six percent that screamed the memory disk was too valuable to let go.

Slipping out of his apartment and riding the elevator down to the street in utter silence, Jason had plenty of time to think.

For the time being, he would need to steal and sell something extremely valuable, but something people would fucking _want_. He walked into the empty street, pulling his coat tightly around him. Jesus, the weather definitely did not agree with him. After this was over, maybe he could move to a place with much more sunshine. Yeah, that'd be nice.

As always having no intended destination, Jason wandered the streets a few more minutes before nearing the docks. He breathed in the strong scent of the ocean. Salty, unclean.

The Titan's Tower loomed in the distance. _How did they achieve that T-shape?_ He wondered._ Structurally unsound._

He entertained a slight fantasy, imagined himself placing charges at the base points of the building, then watching it figuratively falling into the ocean. He could destroy them all while they slept. All he would need was a silent boat.

_A boat._ A surge of idea ran though his spine, sending gooseflesh to erupt on his skin. Yes, a boat. How incredibly wonderful. He sighed; well, at least he could still think of schemes that would profit.

The Titans' vehicle bay. How many times during surveillance had he seen that blasted hydro-car? How many times had he seen that envious glint in criminals' eyes whenever they saw it?

He would need blueprints and time and that suit of his. He began to walk briskly away from the view, certain the synapses in his brain were firing off at world record speeds. This was the perfect thing to keep himself afloat, the perfect little vacation with just enough violence and danger.

And if he sold the disk afterwards, that was to serve as the proverbial icing on the delicious cake (crafted from the Titans' despair if he played it right). He wound his way back through the city, wasting time while trying to work out the budding kinks in his newly formed plan. It would have to be a time when they were either sleeping or out fighting some ridiculous (obviously less talented than he) criminal.

He needed to hack into their alert system in order to know exactly when they left the Tower. He could do that, he was talented enough.

He shivered, snapping back to reality from his small reverie. It had begun to snow again and he popped up the coat's collar to shield his bare neck from the wind.

Walking hastily into a decrepit building he knew very well and rushing down two staircases, he escaped the vicious winter storm brewing.

_Might as well break out the Jack Daniels again and start hammering out the details. _

The elevator ride down to the chamber beneath the basement was short and before long, Jason had deposited his coat on a chair and was staring down at the beautiful piece of technology sitting in a circle of light.

Matte black and striking red, the skull mask sat upon the chest of the folded cloth. The bright white of the skull piece shone against the contrasting darkness it was surrounded in and he gingerly plucked the mask from its place.

The suit was now stripped of its need of the poisonous xenothium and most of its original power now stemmed from the energy Jason provided it with his own body. It had been tiring at first, asking nearly too much of him. Then, he progressed and thrived under the technology.

He examined the mask, positioning it so the spotlight shone gallantly on the white titanium. Perfection (just like him). He poured himself another drink. The alcohol quickly warmed his insides and he internally smiled.

Whenever he slipped on the disguise, he immersed himself into the Red-X persona buried beneath his consciousness. Master of masquerades. Lord of lies. Adept of…

Shit, what was another word that started with an "A"? Oh, fuck it, it didn't matter. All that _did_ matter was that he was about to both cover his tracks and break those damn Titans once and for all.

Life was good for the greatest thief in Jump City, even with his little problems of mafia princesses and teenage superheroes.


	10. Chapter 9: Eleven, Part II

_Chapter 9 – Eleven, Part II_

Bianca paced the expansive wooden floor.

Anxiety boiled in her gut, mixing with her cold blood. It didn't feel quite right to her; she had never experienced such nervousness before.

She stopped, gazing around her lonely apartment before looking down at the cell phone she clutched in her hand. The note left for her from Jason was still tacked on the refrigerator, hastily scrawled writing that made her cringe every time her gaze caught the disastrous penmanship.

She knew exactly what had happened that night – she had reviewed the security tapes earlier. They had drunkenly stumbled through her door, spent a few moments in the kitchen trying to make coffee and then retired to the bedroom. She shuddered. She didn't need tapes to remember _that_ part considering it was completely out of her character, illogical and stupid.

And then the next day he left that almost intelligible memo as if he wanted to see her again.

"_Dearest Bianca_," the note read. "_Call me up and I'll show you what I can do to you sober_."

Taunting and tantalizing, the post-it hung from her freezer door, untouched.

She reclined in one of her expensive leather chairs, gently plucking the glass full of cognac from the small table next to it as she sat.

Bianca wondered if he was asleep. If he was staring up at the ceiling in his bed. If he was up like her, pacing about his own apartment before collapsing with liquor in his system. The thoughts slightly comforted her as she nursed the drink.

Suddenly, the small phone began to ring incessantly, causing her to jump in surprise. "Son of a bitch," she muttered, embarrassed by her startled state, even when she was alone. Flipping open the phone, she angrily answered. "What."

"Hey, I knew you'd be up," her brother, Dominic, said cheerfully on the other side. "How are you?"

"It's four in the morning and I'm drinking liquor. Does that answer your question?"

"Sort of," he replied with a chuckle. It was silent for a moment before his voice took on a more serious tone. "Shotty, have you talked to Mother lately?"

No, she hadn't, but confessing that to her brother was more embarrassing than admitting that she slept with Jason. "Why," she said slyly, diverting the inquiry.

"Father said she didn't want to see you, but just yesterday she asked for you," he said solemnly. "She wants to see you before she… you know."

"Dies," Bianca finished for him with a huff. He had always been so soft when it came to dying. Perhaps that's why he was stuck accounting with Father instead of doing the dirty work like Bruno and she.

Dying was natural, she assumed, so why be ashamed? Everyone had to go sometime. She just wished that she would die fast and young, instead of old, slow and decrepit like her mother. She'd much rather die in a fiery blast than chained to a bed by an IV drip.

"Before the cancer gets to her lungs," he said instead. "Then she won't be able to talk, eat, breathe."

"Has Father said anything about me?" she asked, sipping her cognac.

"Nothing," her brother replied truthfully with slight hesitance. Dominic would never lie, even though it took him a while to speak the truth. "But Shot, I know that he wants to see you too."

_For reasons you don't understand_, she seethed. What may seem like a special visit between father and daughter would turn out with her blood on the floor and his hand holding the smoking pistol. Without that memory disk, her father would never want to see her again.

No, she wouldn't visit. Not yet.

"That doesn't mean I want to see _him_," she finally said. "He and his lapdog are all the things he needs in the world, Dom."

"Don't talk about Bruno that way," Dom said with quiet chiding. "He's your brother too."

"You may look exactly alike, but he is no brother of mine," she replied harshly. "I have not heard from him since our last argument."

"You killed his wife. On his wedding day," Dominic whispered with sharp malice. "Don't you realize that he's still hurting?"

"She _knew_ not to disobey and betray the Family!" Bianca shouted, what little constraint she had breaking. "She knew _never_ to side with enemies of the family and she did it anyway."

"She was drunk off her ass!" he defended. "As well she should have been! It was her and Bruno's special day – the one day they could have had together without the hardships and shit you'd put them through, I'm sure. And_ you _ruined it - "

"Dominic," she said, cutting him off. "If you have called me to argue, then let us argue. But I am not listening to you at four in the morning to bitch at me."

He sighed heavily on the other side of the line. "I'm sorry," he finally said, defeated. "I just want you to understand why Bruno and I…"

"I know, I do understand," she explained. "You two are twin brothers. Of course you'd share each other's feelings."

Here, in five seconds, he would try to win back her loyalty. Their arguments and debates always ended like this.

"I don't," he said hastily, protesting. "I don't hate _you_, now do I?"

"You don't have a reason to," she said coolly. "Listen, Brother, I will visit Mother when I can. I need to take care of some business first." She glanced at the note Jason tacked on the refrigerator.

"Call me when you're done, yeah?"

"Of course, Dominic," she replied. He said his farewell and she closed the phone before internally battling with herself again. She needed a distraction. That's it. That's all she needed. While Dick was working on finding out whom the _fuck_ stole that disk, she needed to be distracted so she didn't do anything rash. That's all. No need to blow up half the city in anger when her rackets and illegal clubs are located there.

She shakily dialed the phone number hastily scrawled on the fridge. Before pressing the call button, she calmed herself – why the hell was she shaking so much? _Must be the cold and alcohol_, she assured herself. She mentally took note never to drink so early again.

"Yeah? Hello? Yeah?" a tired voice answered after a few rings.

"Jason," she said, "It's D'Amori."

"Ah, I knew you'd call sooner or later," he said. She could hear the smirk on his face. She felt the strong urge to smack it off. "What's going on, sweetheart?"

"Don't call me sweetheart," she snapped. "I saw your note."

"Of course you did," he replied. "And where would you like to meet, darling?"

"Stop it," she said, eyes narrowing already. He would be one pain-in-the-ass distraction, but a distraction nonetheless. "I'm free this Thursday," she explained.

"I'll bring my best boxers."


	11. Chapter 10: Ten, Part I

_Chapter 10 – Ten, Part I_

The Titans' Tower was originally built to be a basic headquarters.

It was designed to be the most efficient base in the entire city. It was not built to be a home.

When they were younger and less experienced, that was all it was: a headquarters, where they worked and stayed and conducted serious business because they thought they were grown up. They believed themselves adults, capable of clearing the streets of crime. They did not need family.

The façade did not last very long. The dreams of being a superhero, saving those in need and becoming famous were distant when each member of the team was sobbing silently in their rooms because they were unbearably lonely. They were homesick within the first week, but bound by duty and an oath made to each other, they stayed.

They stayed and built themselves a family of mismatched outcasts.

There was the little brother everyone loved to hate; the older brother who made certain everyone was safe; the middle brother who quietly observed and rarely commented; the older sister with such gloom, only to be balanced out by the younger sister who believed in constant happiness.

Through missions and time, they stitched together a blanket of security. They relied on one another. They needed each other.

Over time, the headquarters became their life. The homesickness ebbed and they instead leaned on each other for support. The letters and calls to true family began to wane and then to cease altogether. They didn't notice; they didn't mind. They became close-knit and were certain they'd stay the same way forever.

_The Teen Titans: protectors of Jump City, mighty beings who rise above the rest. _

He looked at the Tower now and wondered what it was. The building was exactly the same, save a few upgraded searchlights and alarms.

But the residents were different. The Titans had grown, matured, and advanced in both skill and ability. They were his second family. They had friendships forged by battle and the unnatural challenges they overcame while protecting the city they swore to defend.

So what was the fear – _the ache_ – in Cyborg's chest, invading his human heart?

He felt so empty, and it was not due to his out-of-date equipment. The Titans had developed, that was certain, but they had also grown apart; drifted away from one another as they tried to figure out their lives. Soloists they were bound to be, a unit they reluctantly remained.

He should have known that they couldn't stay together forever in the warm place of safety they called home. He should have known that they would all have to split up eventually. They weren't kids anymore, and they didn't need each other as much. And yet he still had the audacity to hope they did.

_Crime-fighting teenagers sounds cool, if you aren't apart of the team, _he thought cynically.

"Are you all right, buddy?" Beast Boy asked as they sat on the couch. The video game they had been playing was paused, but Cyborg hadn't been paying any attention in the first place.

"Hmm? Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," he answered before excusing himself, citing tiredness. He stood from the couch and headed into the familiar corridors, leaving his younger friend to watch his retreating figure with worried eyes.

Cyborg didn't like to cut short the small ritual they had, the tradition that had survived for all the years.

He passed Robin in the hall and the two nodded to each other before moving on.

That was another thing: the leader of their team barely spoke to any of them anymore. No chiding, no excited talk of new strategies, nothing. Robin had always been the quiet one, but recently he was more robotic than Cyborg, and _that_ was saying something.

"Wait, Robin," Cyborg said, catching the smaller boy's – _man's _– attention.

"Yeah, Cyborg?"

"Are you okay, man?" he asked sincerely. "You haven't been, you know, all _there_ lately."

There were a few silent moments before Robin answered with an automatic, "Yeah, I'm fine" in the monotone he had adopted lately. "I'm just… dealing with some personal things," he added.

"Oh," was all Cyborg could muster. It became awkward in the little hall with the uncomfortable silence that ensued. _"oh"? That's all I can say?_

"Do you… need anything, Cy?" Robin asked hesitantly. Cyborg could see that he was hoping he'd answer 'no', so Robin could go back to his room and do whatever the hell he did nowadays.

"Nah, no," he replied, but before the shorter boy could leave, he added: "Listen, Robin. If you need anything, we're here. You know that, right?"

"Yeah, of course," Robin said with a slight nod. Cyborg didn't believe him but there was an invisible wall that made him shut his mouth about it. "Don't worry about me, Cyborg. I can handle myself."

"Yeah, I know, but we're your backup for a reason," he said in return. "Just… remember that, okay?"

"Look, I know what I'm doing and I need to do it alone," the boy wonder said now, defensive and withdrawing from his friend. "If I need you, I'd talk to you about it."

"Whoa, Robin, no need to get all angry," he said, creasing his brow. "I'm just trying to help."

"I don't need it!" Robin shouted, his face flushing with defensive rage. "I can work alone, Cyborg! I don't need you!"

With the last yell, the boy wonder turned on his heel and started down the hall to his own room, his steps taking much more force than necessary. Cyborg watched in shock as the younger man retreated to his sanctum. When Robin disappeared around a corner, Cyborg returned to his own chamber for the night.

He should have been angry, but instead he could feel the sorrow for his friend rise up in his throat. It made the back of his tongue bitter and his teeth sour. If Robin wanted to do whatever the hell he did alone, he could. Cyborg wasn't his mother. Or brother. Or cousin. Or any sort of family member.

He was only a friend, and friends could only make suggestions and offer help. The rejection hurt – they had been together through more disastrous things than real brothers could even imagine.

That night, Cyborg spent the hours of darkness staring up at the ceiling of his room before drifting off to a dreamless sleep. He awoke, still in the murky dimness, to the quiet sliding of his metal door.

"Friend Cyborg?" a voice came from the doorway, strained with emotion and trying not to break.

"Yeah, Starfire," he responded. He knew that she would snap in two seconds, like she always did when Robin would refuse to see or talk to her. He knew that he would have to comfort her again by being the big brother she never had and whispering "It'll be okay" when he didn't really believe it himself.

Her emotions bubbled to the surface and she choked on a sob. He embraced her as if they were siblings; as if they hadn't grown so much apart. For several long minutes, he waited for her to get it all out.

It had been so much simpler when they were kids.


	12. Chapter 11: Ten, Part II

_Chapter 11 – Ten, Part II_

It was well after dark when Jason jogged down the stoop steps to meet her.

The street was empty, save a few homeless men wandering up and down the sidewalk talking loudly. The streetlights were the same, bland orange glow and under one of them he spotted her.

It took him a bit to realize it was actually Bianca, though. She was without her trademark sleek suit, trading business attire for something more casual – or, at least it was probably casual in her opinion.

She stood on the sidewalk in a sleek black dress and sky-high heels, taking a deep breath on a freshly lit cigarette. "Well hello there," he greeted, adopting the tone of a cocky teen boy whilst adjusting the collar of his coat. He wondered if he should have worn a tie.

"Evening," she replied, stomping on the hastily finished cigarette. She recoiled as he kissed her on the cheek, although he tried not to notice.

Although they had already been in bed with each other, he found himself uncomfortable. It was much harder to carry on a personal relationship when he hadn't downed a fifth of vodka beforehand.

He glanced down the empty street as she slyly wiped her face free of his lips. "Where's your car?"

"We're taking the subway," she explained.

He almost replied, '_What the fuck, aren't you rich?_' but thought better of it. The less he revealed about his knowledge of her, the better his façade would fit. Besides, he was certain that Bianca wouldn't find the humor in his joking manner.

"The… subway then," he said with a silent sigh. He began to walk to the nearest station when she stopped him with a stern hand on his forearm.

"I'm joking," she said with amusement. He figured that she learned how to grin from a tiger. "Do you really think I would spend my time in a metal box that smelled of urine?"

"Oh," he managed, his face burning. Well then; he supposed she really _did_ have a sense of humor. "No?"

"Good answer," she replied, walking across the street to a nearby alley. It took him a moment to _not _focus on how well the dress fit her bottom and finally catch up to her.

A classic black Bentley was parked in the back street, between dumpsters and hobos. Jason uttered a low whistle, admiring the recently waxed hood. "And this is all yours, is it?"

"Paid for by crushed skulls and intimidation," she said calmly, slipping towards the driver's side.

He started to laugh, but then halted; it didn't quite seem like she was joking this time. He slid into the passenger seat, a blast of warm air surrounding him as he shut the door.

The vehicle roared to life, the headlights shining through the darkness in front of them. "You should buckle yourself," she muttered, adjusting the rearview mirror. He complied, clicking the belt into the mechanism.

The tires squealed as she expertly swerved into the street, nearly slamming the side into a newspaper stand. "_Holy shit!_" Jason shouted his heart beating against his ribs from the shock. The smell of burnt rubber assaulted his nose and he nearly pissed himself.

Remember to always bring a back-up pair of pants.

"You realize that it _is_ a _small_ car, right?" she said quietly after his incredibly loud yell. "There is no need to shout vulgarity while I'm sitting a foot away. I can hear you just fine."

He quickly apologized.

She chuckled under her breath, slowing the car to a reasonable speed. "Apology graciously accepted," she said, smiling.

"You sped out on purpose, though," he said after a silent reprieve. He had finally relaxed back into the leather seat. His heart was still uncomfortably behind his Adam's apple, making it hard to swallow, but at least he was in one piece.

"So?" was the reply, turning a smooth right. "Not like you died."

"Yeah, thankfully," he snorted. "Could you imagine if I did? Then there'd be no one entertaining you tonight."

"Oh there are _many_ other men willing to entertain me tonight," she retorted. Uncharacteristically, Jason felt his façade slip for a single moment, the unfamiliar feeling of jealousy slip into his mind. He quickly dismissed it.

"Not like me, love," he said, composing himself as he slid his hand over hers.

"I'm driving," she said, shaking his fingers off of the clutch. "Let's not touch when I'm driving."

"But I don't think I'll be able to wait until we're out of the car," he falsely complained. Surprisingly, she laughed.

"You are an idiot," she muttered under her breath.

"An _entertaining_ idiot," he corrected. "Where are we going?" he then inquired, switching his gaze from her well-structured face to the buildings speeding past. They were soon on the bridge connecting the downtown slums to the ritzy uptown district.

In the distance, he could see Titan Island, the windows darkened in order for the superheroes to rest.

He could have snuck into their place right then, stolen the blueprints, then be out before Bianca knew he had been gone.

_Soon_, the greed inside his chest cooed. _It'll be soon enough._

"Just a small restaurant," she explained. There was a pause before she arrogantly added, "I own it."

"Of course you do," he laughed in return, watching her smirk widen in the corner of his vision.

The "small restaurant" was not small (or maybe it was in Bianca's eyes, like her "casual" clothing). It was grand and showy, lights speckled around the entrance and front windows. She pulled in front of the building before tossing the keys to a trusted valet. "Don't scratch it," she warned the man – who was at least ten years her senior.

Jason offered his arm as she made her way to the building's entrance. "Are you serious?" she questioned, dismissing the gentlemanly gesture. She chuckled, quickly climbing elegant stairs to a private suite.

"I _was _quite serious," he muttered, making her laugh harder.

"It isn't the 1800's," she replied. He smiled in return, unable to suppress it from their banter. "Come," she then said, leading him through the suite and out to the veranda, where a small table had been placed.

He uttered another low whistle at the view. The bright lights of the city at night sparkled, the bay reflecting the light. The gritty streets, crack whores, and lowly criminals were practically invisible.

"Nice view," he complimented.

"Why thank you," she replied politely. She had already seated herself and snapped her fingers. A busboy instantly placed a high-ball of cognac in her hand.

"Shouldn't you be drinking apple juice, love?" Jason said, sitting across from her and picking up the menu.

"How considerate of you to worry about my liver," she responded. He laughed and her smile grew on her pretty little face from the warm sound.

"I was more worried about your _behavior_ after a few drinks," he explained, his eyes flickering over the foreign Italian words and phrases. Before he could decipher the items listed, the very polished waiter approached the table.

He wondered if he could just mutter something and the waiter would simply bring him whatever sounded most like his mumble.

"_Buona sera_," Bianca said with such flair that Jason believed they were back in the old country, ordering the local special.

She spoke with the waiter in full Italian before the boy nodded and walked off to the kitchen. "So, am I going to get something to eat?" Jason asked. "Because I didn't eat anything all day for this."

"You're so _very_ amusing," she replied. "Of course I ordered you something. Salad good enough for you?"

"You're kidding, right?" he said. She broke out into another cackle, her teeth sparkling like those of an underwater shark.

There were a few more moments of silence before the waiter returned, setting down a plate of garnished food before Jason.

He ungracefully began to eat. The food was brilliantly prepared with spices and the perfect blend of garlic and onion. After, he glanced up at Bianca.

Her horrified face was enough to send him into a laughing fit.

"Good Lord, are you done devouring your food?" she muttered, completely repulsed by his lack of manners. Before she could complain anymore, a nervous busboy approached the table.

"Miss?" he questioned, trying to get her attention. Her eyes narrowed.

"What is it," she demanded, seething at the interruption.

"A man is here to see you, asking for your audience, miss," the busboy explained nervously. "He won't leave until you've seen him."

She contemplated this for a long moment before glancing at Jason across the table. "Excuse me," she said, rising.

"Take all the time you need, love," he replied, wiping his mouth on the fancy napkin. She disappeared quickly, her heels clicking against the wooden floorboards. Jason watched her leave, his eyes on her lean legs.

The busboy hastily followed her, anxiously wringing his hands and blocked the view of her.

There was a distant slam of a door, and then voices beneath the veranda began to hold a conversation. Jason looked downwards, over the edge, spotting Bianca and a young man speaking with one another in hushed tones. He studied the man – dark hair, pale skin, and from this angle, his frame looked familiar.

The conversation between Bianca and her mysterious guest was brief and Jason watched as his date vanished inside the building once more.

The man she had been speaking to gazed up at the veranda and locked eyes with Jason.

Promptly, the criminal flipped off Bianca's guest, his middle finger showcased with a ring. With narrowed eyes, the man walked off in a huff.

"Apologies for my absence," Bianca said, reappearing at the door. "Just an old friend from an old city."


	13. Chapter 12: Nine, Part I

_Chapter 12 – Nine, Part I_

The D'Amori manor was somber that evening.

Bruno hated it.

His father had shut himself in the study, refusing to see the two brothers standing in the living room. Neither one wanted to head upstairs, where their mother lay in suffering. Bruno waited for Dominic to speak, although it appeared the responsibility would fall to him instead.

"Any word from the doctors?"

"They all say the same thing."

"Oh."

More silence, broken only by the crackling of the sticks in the fireplace as they were subdued by the heat. Dominic moved to the liquor cabinet, pouring himself a glass of whiskey. Bruno raised an eyebrow – it wasn't in Dominic's personality to drink.

"I'm going to see her," Bruno then announced, readying his suit and dusting some ash from his sleeve.

"Yeah," Dominic replied, not looking up.

Bruno stared at his brother for a long time before actually ascending the staircase. Although they shared appearances, Bruno couldn't help but have an aching heart for the increasing distance between their personalities and opinions. They used to agree on everything, no matter the subject.

Except Bianca, of course.

He hadn't heard from her in days, which wasn't unusual, but she hadn't even come to see their dying mother. She couldn't be that heartless, could she?

He shook his head; maybe she could be. He didn't really know anymore.

He climbed the staircase, growing apprehensive with each step. The door to Mother's bedroom was ajar and he gently pushed it open with one hand. "Mother?"

"Bruno," came the weakened reply. He smiled, despite himself; she always knew how to tell the twin brothers apart.

He stepped inside, surveying the room.

The elegantly decorated chamber brought back too many childhood memories to name. A large window was situated on the other wall, its curtains drawn in order to keep the warmth in. It was still unbearably cold.

A beeping machine had been rolled in and now sat at the side of the massive bed, humming and serving as a constant reminder of time. His mother didn't have much left.

At first, Bruno hadn't realized that the mass of sheets was in fact, his mother. Her frame had shrunken considerably, her bones clearly visible through paper-thin skin. During his childhood, she was vibrant and always warm, ready to wrap him in a hug if he should ever scrape his knee. Now, she lay hooked to the machine and a new intravenous bag, her brown eyes too large for her skinny face.

"Hello," he greeted quietly, dragging a chair over from the writing desk. She was barely able to lift her hand, but Bruno caught it anyway and held it within his much bigger one. Her fingers were chilly. "Dominic's downstairs," he muttered as her eyes settled on him.

"Business with your father again," she said with a sigh. "It was never right for him to drag you boys into the business."

"We turned out fine, Mother," he cooed, trying to comfort her. It was too late; tears began to well in her eyes before spilling onto her cheekbones.

"You boys," she said, trying to control the cracking in her voice. "You boys are strong enough to handle the business and… and such _violence _that your father puts you through. You two were _forced_ into this life. But Bianca – my beautiful Bianca – _chose_ this life. How can you tell a mother…"

She paused, weeping. Her frame shook with the sobs and he was scared of how her body seemed too fragile. "How can you tell a mother that her daughter _chose_ a life of manipulative, unforgiveable _crimes_?"

She was out of breath and took to coughing, clutching her chest and Bruno's hand with sickly strength. Bruno couldn't answer his mother. It was something he had been wondering himself. Bianca had been fascinated with the family business as a child, but he didn't know that she would turn out the way she did.

He held his mother's head, wiping her face gently with his free hand.

"I'm sorry, Bruno," she said then, waving away his help. "I shouldn't cry so openly like a child."

"You're the matriarch of an entire clan, Mother," Bruno explained with a smile. "I don't think someone will call you a child for crying over your own."

She weakly laughed. "You always were the funnier one," she said in return. Bruno stayed until she fell asleep, and then left as quietly as he entered.

Shutting the door as silently as possible, he turned to find Dominic standing at the top of the stairs. "She's sleeping," he muttered to his brother, moving past the man and heading down the steps.

"Did she say anything?" Dominic then asked as Bruno was half-way down the staircase. "About Bianca?"

Bruno hesitated, but then sighed and replied, "Yeah, she did."

"What did she say about her?" Dominic persisted.

"Leave it alone, Dom," he said, defensively. "Whatever it is, it's between Mother and Bianca."

"But she told _you_," Dominic retorted. "And I should be able to know what she said about her!"

"_Shut up!_" Bruno whispered fiercely. "She's sleeping, you idiot."

"_Then just tell me_," his brother maliciously said. Bruno cringed; he could smell the strong stench of whiskey on him.

"She doesn't understand why Bianca is the way she is," Bruno explained after a long silence. He could see the realization strike Dominic uncomfortably. He shifted, blinking too many times.

"Oh," his twin brother said. "Oh, God."

"Exactly," Bruno replied. "Now go to bed, I don't think you should be driving tonight."

His brother nodded, taking his advice. In a moment, Dominic had disappeared into their old room, shutting the door noiselessly behind him. Bruno stared at the mahogany for a long time, trying to see past the door and into his brother's mind.

Giving up, he returned downstairs. His father was still locked up in the study and he could hear soft jazz leaking through the walls.

Frank Sinatra – he was planning something very large and very showy. Bruno decided not to say goodbye to the old man and hurried off to his car in the driveway.

Even the snow was warmer than the manor that night.


	14. Chapter 13: Nine, Part II

_Chapter 13 – Nine, Part II_

The alarms had not gone off.

_Impossible_, he thought, stepping into his room and hastily sliding the metal door shut. The hairs on the back of his neck rose in suspicion. There was something terribly wrong in here and he quickly turned the lights on.

The stink of cigarette smoke was rampant in his sanctuary while the woman responsible for the acrid stench flicked ash on his bed. She sat in the only chair, her legs rigidly crossed.

"Oh, hello there," Bianca greeted menacingly. She blew smoke into the air, the cigarette dangling from two of her fingers. A hatred exploded within his gut at the sight of her.

"What the _fuck _are you doing here?" he whispered fiercely, storming towards her.

She raised an eyebrow, her mouth twisting into a wry grin. "Watch your mouth, wonder boy," she replied coolly. "The kids looking up to you would be disappointed if they heard you talking like that."

"Shut up," he snapped back. "And_ get out_."

"Is this how you treat your guests?" she said, unmoving. Her stare was unblinking and he wondered if she could sense the shiver the gaze sent down his spine. "How incredibly rude of you."

"What do you want," he said through clenched teeth, restraining himself from striking her across her smug face. He was taller and stronger than the small lithe woman. He could easily take her down and knock her out before anyone stumbled into his room from her scream.

He paused, startled by himself. Did he really just think that?

"Checking in on your progress," she explained, interrupting his frightening thoughts. She threw the cigarette onto the carpet and let it scorch the rug before she smothered the flame with the bottom of her stiletto.

"I could've sent you a report," he growled in response. "There is no need for you to come down here - "

"I don't have time to read something you churn out after five minutes of sitting at a computer," she retorted with a wave of her hand. "Fill me in on your progress in the next ten seconds and I'll be out of your Tower within minutes."

He glared at her, momentarily forgetting his entire upbringing and allowing the violent thoughts to leak towards the front of his brain. No one knew she was in his room; he could easily dispose of her and be done with this entire fiasco. It would only take one punch to the temple and Jump City could lose its prized mafia jewel. It was all too easy.

"Well?" she said expectantly after a long silence. "Don't keep me waiting here. I've been impatient with your progress. Tell me what you have accomplished in the last few days. _Now._"

The anger in her voice was nearly palpable.

"I haven't figured it all out yet," he finally admitted, restraining himself. "But I've got a lead."

She was quiet for a long moment. "And that's it? That's it. You have one lead," she said skeptically. "This is what you give me? _Really?"_

"It's been a long process," he defended. "It hasn't even been a week."

"Your excuses bore me," she seethed. "You're the fucking _boy_ _wonder_, apprentice to the _Batman_ and your excuse for not getting me the fucker who stole the most priceless object from my family is that it's only been a _week_?"

"Yelling at me won't make me work any faster," he snapped in return. "I have a lead and I'm going to follow it up."

"What lead, then."

"Let me follow it up first."

She angrily scoffed. "The mystery surrounding you is getting rather boring, Boy Wonder," she said darkly. "I'm the only one in this city who _really_ knows who you are. Unless you want that identity of yours splattered on the front page of the newspaper, I suggest you tell me what you know."

"I will type up your report and will deliver it by tomorrow morning," he said coldly.

Her cruel laughter filled the small room. "Fine, play your little games. I'll be out in the real world, boy wonder, and I'll be expecting a full report delivered to me by seven in the morning tomorrow," she said, moving towards the exit and sliding a hand under her coat hanging near the door. "If I don't have it in my possession, consider yourself _fucked."_

She slipped her peacoat on, buttoning it.

He stared at her, confused. "Wait, your building doesn't even open until eight in the morning, though."

"I know," she said matter-of-factly, taking another cigarette out of her silver case and igniting it with the click of her lighter. "If I have to come back here, it won't end so pleasantly."

She quietly stepped through the exit, her threat still hanging in the air where she had stood. When she had gone from his sight, he switched on the monitors and watched her exit the premises without running into any of the other Titans. He sighed, relieved.

After he was certain she was gone, Robin dialed a number on his civilian cellphone.

"Arkham Asylum, how may I help you today?" the receptionist said cordially.

"Yes, I was wondering if I could schedule an appointment."

"Of course, let me see when our doctors are available - "

"No, no. I need to schedule an appointment with one of your prisoners," he explained. The receptionist stuttered, clearly not knowing how to process his request.

"E-excuse me, sir?" she questioned. "No one asks to see _our_ prisoners. Perhaps you meant to call - "

"The Joker," he interrupted once again. There was silence on the other end of the line and Robin realized that the woman had fainted. Another voice took over the phone.

"Hello? Hello? Who is this?" a startled woman asked.

"I need to schedule an appointment with the Joker. I have very important business to discuss with him."

* * *

A/N: I'm incredibly sorry to have neglected this story for sometime, but now I'm back and stretching these writing muscles again. Forgive me if I'm rusty; I'm getting back into the groove of things. As always, thank you thank you thank you for taking the time to read this chapter / story. 3


	15. Chapter 14: Eight, Part I

_Chapter 14 – Eight, Part I_

Dominic's car came to slow halt.

He shut off the engine and sat idly for a moment, listening to his heart beat furiously against his chest in a frantic tone. Despite the freezing cold outside of the vehicle's hub and the pistol hidden in his belt's holster, his face was burning with anxiety.

He wasn't used to this kind of adrenaline, this kind of rush.

He didn't usually do these kinds of things, honestly. This part of the business – the sneaking around, the intimidation, the paying people off, the deals, the goddamn _anxiety_ – always fell to Bruno or Bianca when the three siblings were living under the same roof.

They'd come home with blood on their suits and he'd marvel at the dark liquid for a moment before becoming nauseated at the coppery smell.

"What's wrong, brother?" his sister would goad, wiping the red off of her personal pistol with a silky handkerchief. Her sneer burned itself into his head. "A little _blood's_ not going to hurt you."

And then she would laugh, a disturbing, dry chuckle underneath her breath. It would drill into his mind and in a sick twist, his brain would store it for later occasions of humiliation.

He would fidget beneath her gaze before collecting his notebooks from the kitchen table and retreating to his room. She wouldn't follow him all the way there, her own chamber was in a different wing of the house. But she would trail him up the stairs, knowing that the disgusting blood scent was infiltrating his nostrils and making him gag.

"What's wrong?" she'd repeat outside his bedroom door. "Dealing with death is just another part of our business."

Another chuckle would drift through the oak door and find its way into Dominic's ears.

Now, Dom shook his head. This was no time to dwell on Bianca.

Besides, Dominic knew he was more suited for balancing the books than wielding a gun or knife. When he was younger, when it mattered, he had spent countless hours with a calculator, happily typing away and scribbling the totals in his father's accounts. He was good at it too –_ damn good_ – and had his fair share of the company secured before anyone else.

Not to say that Bruno and Bianca didn't secure theirs a little while later.

"A little lamb," Dominic's father had called him when they were children.

_Yeah_, he thought now with a scoff. _Living amongst the lions' household._

He shook his head again, clearing childhood memories and chiding himself for living in a reverie once more. He didn't need to start reminiscing about the earlier times of peace and civility in their family. Their relationships had eroded. He didn't need to be reminded of how.

What he _needed _to do was stay on guard if he was going to help peace return to their ranks. The empire had split and chaos loomed near their aging patriarch. Bianca was becoming much too powerful for her own good. If their father found out how much she had been stashing away – contacts, money, soldiers, rackets, weapons – then she'd be dead before sunrise.

There would be no way for her to survive if the head of the D'amori family called out a hit on her. She would arrive to her apartment to a team of three men, who would shoot her down before she could take off her coat.

He couldn't let that happen. Bianca, no matter how demented, was a powerful asset to their business. He couldn't replace her with anyone. No one was as good as her. Not that he always confessed that, but it was undoubtedly true.

Bianca was the best. The business would crumple without her.

And so he had constructed a very ingenious plan to piece their family back together again.

Quickly stepping out of the vehicle with one of his hands comfortably over his hidden weapon, Dominic gazed up and down the alleyway. He took a swig from his flask, letting the whiskey burn his throat on the way down.

_They don't call it liquid courage for nothing_, he thought. The process of comforting himself did not help. He still shook, his eyes still darted from side to side and sweat began to form on the back of his neck. Goddamn, if he had at least an ounce of Bianca's or Bruno's balls he'd be calm and collected right now.

Checking his watch, Dominic confirmed it was the correct meeting time. He was never late for anything.

The alleyway was still empty, however. The midday sun loomed overhead, watching Dom twitch with confusion.

So where the hell was this costumed bastard?

"Mr. Butler," a voice called from the other end of the alleyway. Dominic squinted, trying to find the person who had shouted his alias. "You have the money."

The arrogance in the tone was practically tangible.

"I assume you have the disk!" Dominic yelled in return. He held up the briefcase full of the money, waiting for the man to appear.

A dry chuckle echoed off of the alley walls. "When you _assume_, you make an '_ass_' out of '_you_' and '_me_'," came the reply.

"Stop fucking around and give me what I want," Dominic shouted, frustration building in his throat.

The chuckle only intensified before a figure dropped from a fire escape ladder. He stood at a not-so-intimidating height, hands empty and mask secure. Red-X. Not as frightening, really. The thought gave Dominic an edge.

"The disk," he said, extending a hand and feeling the grip of the weapon he hid in the back of his pants move with his action. "For the money."

If Red-X hadn't been wearing a shroud, Dominic was certain he would see a smirk crack the bottom half of his face. With a swift motion, the mask criminal threw the disk into the air towards the Italian. Dominic grasped the item as Red-X disappeared.

His left hand suddenly felt empty.

Dominic glanced down, shocked to find the suitcase missing from his grip. Grasping for the gun at his back, he found it too had been taken.

"Goddammit!" he shouted in the alleyway.

But the anger soon deflated as he looked down at the memory disk in his hand. Silver chromed with the family's crest imbedded in the metal, the tiny stick was almost too much trouble.

No matter. It was back in his hand, and therefore the D'Amoris'.

Dominic stomped back to his vehicle, climbing in the driver's seat.

The disk was practically burning his hand with anticipation.


End file.
